


a world on fire

by ironarana



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Dead Aunt May, Gen, I'm Sorry, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, all those are super vague but i just want to be careful, but the one i somehow ended up writing anyways, it's just the way it worked out, not the dead aunt may fic i wanted to write, tw anxiety??, tw depression??, tw grief, tw possible thoughts of self harm??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironarana/pseuds/ironarana
Summary: “Don’t let the sun go down on your anger.”These are the last words Peter ever hears May say the night she dies.





	a world on fire

**Author's Note:**

> y'all this took me forever. also, please heed the tags and stay safe everyone <3 hope you enjoy!

“Don’t let the sun go down on your anger.” 

These are the last words Peter ever hears May say the night she dies. They’re gentle and pleading, punctuated with a soft touch on his arm. She wants him to stay. She doesn’t want him to storm out angry with only a few hours of daylight left. 

But he does. Because he’s coiled too tightly and burning hotly with anger. They fought. May is becoming increasingly worried to the point he’s sure the creases between her brows and the frown lines would stay there forever. There’s crows feet around her eyes, fine wrinkles subtly written into her cheeks. She’s aging. 

Peter was getting hurt more lately on patrol. He blames it on lack of sleep but there’s more at play and May knows it. She sees right through him like she always does. They both know Christmastime is rolling around the way shopkeepers roll out the tinsel and sparkling lights to decorate their windows. The anniversary is nearing. Of course Peter and May fight this time of year. 

He just doesn’t know it would be the last fight they ever have. 

There’s no resolution. Peter leaves the apartment and wanders in aimless circles around Queens, just trying to clear his head and fan out the smoke left by the scalding words they hurled at each other. They didn’t mean any of it. When he gets home, he’s going to apologize and ask for forgiveness he doesn’t know he’d never receive. 

He’s two blocks away from the apartment building when police cars blow past him, sirens screaming, lights flashing. He pauses on the sidewalk to watch them go by. Following them are ambulances and firetrucks. 

Peter’s brows pinch together in confusion as he looks in the direction they’re going. 

And then his eyes blow wide. 

And then he runs. 

He runs like he never has before, down the street and towards the caravan of emergency vehicles and the crowd gathering on the sidewalk. The street is bathed in violent hues of orange and yellow, smoke drifting into the air. Bile rising in his throat, heart pumping hard against his ribs, he watches screaming hordes of people stumble out and run into the street as he grows nearer and nearer, the realization dawning on him: it’s his apartment building. 

And it’s on fire. 

Police officers and paramedics rush in, guiding people to the ambulances and away from the building as firefighters work hastily to extinguish the flames. Peter feels like there’s a gaping hole inside his chest filling with ash. Or maybe it was just the smoke. Either way, he doesn’t know how to process the idea that home is gone now and all his belongings are smoldering at his feet. 

He coughs into his elbow, eyes stinging with water as he scans the crowd for May. Once the coughing subsides, he begins to call for her, voice unsteady as he weaves through the thinning crowd. 

“May? May, where are you? Are you here? May?” 

He stops a few people, residents - no, former residents - of their apartment. He knows them. They know May. But they haven’t seen her. 

Panic begins to seep into his nervous system. His hands are shaking and his heart is pounding and he feels like he’s going to throw up or pass out or both. 

Peter begins to yell now, frantic. He doesn’t care how desperate or childish he looks. He yells May over and over and over again until her name rings like church bells in his ears and he knows the only hope he has left is a hail Mary if he ever wants to see May again. 

An officer eventually takes notice and grabs Peter by the elbow, taking him aside and away from the crowd. “Hey, kid, is everything okay?” the officer questions, concerned. 

Peter’s eyes are watery. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s crying or if it’s the smoke and heat. He shakes his head. His voice trembles. “No, I-I can’t find my aunt. Her name is-her name is May Parker and she lives in the apartment with me on the seventh floor and I-I can’t find her, sir, please, help me. Help me find her.” 

“Okay, kid, we’re gonna do everything we can to find her.” 

Peter sniffles, breathes out. Thickly, he murmurs, “Thank you.” 

The officer is just turning around when a loud creaking fills the air, drawing their intention. In mute horror, Peter listens to the apartment roof groan and then his eyes widen as he watches half the roof cave in on the top floor. And he knows it’ll only be seconds until the whole building burns to the ground. 

He knows. 

But then a man comes stumbling out on the bottom floor, coughing violently into his elbow. A firefighter approaches him and takes him by the arm to drag him away from the building but the man shakes his head vehemently. 

“No,” he insists. When he refuses to move, he shouts, “No, no! There’s-there’s still a woman trapped up on the seventh floor.” 

It’s like the whole world explodes. 

Peter doesn’t even realize he’s screaming May’s name until he is and he doesn’t realize he’s moving until everyone is rushing past in a blur and the flames are growing bigger and hotter as he runs closer and closer to the building and he’s trying, he’s trying to get in, he’s trying to _ save her _ before it’s too late, but someone is holding him back. There are arms tugging at him and voices yelling, ordering him to stay back and he’s tugging against them, he’s trying to break their hold and he is still screaming his head off in denial and thrashing against the officers and firefighters arms as they drag him back from the building. 

Peter screams and sobs and his eyes water and his lungs burn and the building burns and then it all comes tumbling down in one glorious rush of smoky air and flames and smoldering embers and then Peter collapses like a puppet with his strings cut, throat dry and rusted from all the screaming and his temples throb with the thought, _ she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone, _ being beaten into his skull. 

Then something pinches his neck and the whole world is engulfed in flames. 

He can only hope that he’s burning alive the same way May is as unconsciousness reaches him and drags him down into the void. 

-

Tony is at the hospital three hours later. 

Peter is, unfortunately, awake by then. He metabolized the sedative fast and now he’s sitting in a recovery room after he’s been checked over by doctors to make sure he’s okay. Physically, he’s fine. But he hears the doctor talking lowly to Tony in the hallway. 

“He’s been traumatized, Mr. Stark…” says a female doctor, her voice gentle and tinged with worry. “He was screaming his head off before we sedated him. There are...good therapists we can recommend.” 

There’s a pause. Tony quietly says, “thank you” and then Peter hears his clicking footsteps on the linoleum. 

He looks down at the floor when the door slowly swings open and Tony enters. He’s trying hard to concentrate on a scuff mark on the floor. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about any of this. He doesn’t want to think about how the last thought he had before passing out was that he wanted to die. 

Maybe it was just the drug or maybe it really was true. Either way, Tony doesn’t say anything as he approaches and his shoes come into Peter’s vision field. 

The silence is as sterile as the hospital room they’re standing in. Peter feels cold and uncomfortable here. In this room. With Tony, who they called because he was put down as an emergency contact months ago at school and in Peter’s phone. 

He just wants to go home. 

“Happy is waiting outside if you want to go,” Tony says. “But only if.” 

Peter doesn’t even know where they would go. There’s no home anymore. He saw it burn, saw it collapse in on itself. It’s seared into his brain now forever. Does it even matter where he goes? 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he cares either. This hospital room feels like a dream land, the white walls hazy around him like a cloud. He feels like if he closes his eyes hard enough he’ll wake up. And then he’ll be in his bed with his alarm clock going off and he’ll have to get dressed and ready for school. 

He tries it. He closes his eyes and his fingers clench the paper on the examination table. It crinkles beneath his touch. When he opens them, he’s still there. In the hospital room. 

The defeat is so raw and palpable in his chest, like a sore oozing with pus. He chokes out air. It sounds like a sob and maybe it is. His nose itches and his eyes sting and he clenches his jaw because he doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t even know if he could. It feels like he’s been wrung out and there’s nothing left. 

He sniffles and slides off the table. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t even have the words. The nurse said he was traumatized. Maybe she was right. 

He follows Tony out the door and garners pitiful stares from nurses and doctors as he’s lead through the maze of hallways, downstairs and out a back door to where a sleek, black car is idling in an alleyway, headlights shining through the dark. 

Tony opens the door and Peter clambers in, settling down in the backseat. Tony sits beside him and he would be surprised but Peter doesn’t think he can feel anything anymore. 

Once the door closes, his fate is sealed and Happy drives away into the night. 

-

Peter doesn’t remember the car ride. 

They arrive at a secluded cabin amidst a forest. A pond glitters with moonlight. Crickets chirp. An owl hoots. 

As they climb out, Peter finds he doesn’t remember the car ride here. He knows he was awake, because he watched the city fade away into darkness and then suddenly, they were slowing. And now they’re here. The night air is damp and chilly. Peter wraps his arms around himself. 

Tony leads him towards the cabin, where the windows are glowing with a warm yellow light. Peter freezes, breath caught in his throat and he steps back, heels sinking into the dirt. 

Tony pauses and turns around, an eyebrow raised in confusion. He looks between the cabin and then Peter and seems to realize what’s wrong. He approaches Peter slowly, like a wounded animal. 

“Hey,” Tony says, quiet. His breath evaporates in the air. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Pepper just has the lights on, that’s all, okay?” 

Peter still doesn’t move, eyeing the cabin suspiciously, like it could spontaneously combust into flames at any moment. Shattered breaths fall from his lips. He tightens his arms around himself. 

Tony comes closer and wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders. It’s the first gesture with meaning to it that Tony has made all night. Peter lets himself be slowly guided into the cabin, up over the creaky porch steps. Tony opens the door and lets Peter step inside first. 

The cabin is cozy and intimately personal. There are photographs hung on the walls, on the mantle. There are neatly folded clothes in a laundry basket on the couch. Dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. It’s warmer inside and Peter loosens his hold on himself but not too much. He’s not exactly sure that he won’t explode at any second. 

As the door closes, Peter hears footsteps down the staircase. He casts his gaze from the kitchen to the landing, where he sees Pepper Potts hurry down the stairs. Her eyes are wide and worried, tinged with sadness. 

“Tony told me what happened,” she says, by way of explanation, as she folds Peter into a hug. “I’m so sorry.” 

Peter returns the embrace hesitantly. Pepper is too much like May and she smells like her too, like vanilla and orchids. Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel anything. He should. But he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t. Maybe that’s what “traumatized” means. 

He’s heard that some people who are burn victims oftentimes lose feeling in their limbs, the nerves destroyed. The pain receptors don’t work so they can run their hand through an open flame and feel no pain, no heat. 

Maybe he really did burn alive. Just in a different way. 

Pepper withdraws from the embrace and smiles sadly down at him. She squeezes his shoulder lightly. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs to bed. You’ve had a long night.” 

“I’ll be up in a second,” Tony adds, from the entryway. 

Peter looks back at him with desperation seeping into his eyes. His heart constricts. _ Please don’t leave me _, he thinks. 

Tony seems to read his mind because what he says next is, “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I just have to make a call first.” 

Peter doesn’t reply. His gaze lingers for a second and then he follows Pepper upstairs and down the hallway. There are pictures of Tony and Pepper hanging on the walls. In one, they are slow dancing at a gala, like time is frozen. In another, Tony is nowhere in sight but Pepper is curled on a couch with a tea cup cradled in her hands, her golden hair shining as she watches the sunrise. 

He didn’t realize he’d stopped to look at them until Pepper says, “Tony took that one.” 

She’s smiling fondly. “It was a long time ago. I always hated that picture. But Tony loved it so we kept it.” She touches Peter’s arm gently. “Come on, this way.” 

She leads him down the hall and through the last door on the right. Inside, it smells like old spice and dust. There’s a queen sized bed layered with fluffy comforters and pillows. There is a dresser against the corner along with a wooden chair beside it and a window overlooks the forest. If Peter squints hard enough, he can see the city in the distance. 

He wonders if the apartment building is still burning. 

“I’ll bring you some clothes of Tony’s,” Pepper says. 

She leaves the door open, light from the hallway spilling in as her retreating footsteps echo. 

Peter rounds the bed to the window and looks out at the miniscule lights inlaid against the skyline. They almost blend in with the stars. He feels so far away, not only from home, but also from himself. None of this feels real. It all feels like a dream or an afterlife. Nothing matters anymore. Whatever he says or does, it doesn’t matter. 

He sinks down onto the bed, the mattress giving. He runs his hands over the comforter, clenching the fabric between his fingers. It’s soft and light. It almost feels like he’s gripping at air. 

Pepper comes in a moment later and lays a small pile of clothes on the bed. An oversized maroon sweatshirt. Grey sweatpants. A black tee shirt. That’s it. 

“I’ll leave you to change,” she says with a smile. “Good night, Peter.” 

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even return her smile. She leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Peter turns around just to make sure she’s gone and then he slips his shoes off. He doesn’t want to change. He just wants to close his eyes and wake up at home. 

He doesn’t even climb under the covers. He curls in on himself, around the pain throbbing in his stomach. It aches from all the crying and screaming earlier in the evening. He closes his eyes and buries his face into the pillow. 

If he concentrates hard enough, it’s like he’s at home. 

-

When he wakes, he awakes screaming. 

Harsh, ragged breaths escape him as he hungrily swallows air, chest spasming with sobs. His eyes are watering and his blood beats in his ears. Heat rushes through him like a wildfire. 

He saw her. May. The apartment was on fire and he was there, and he could’ve saved her, he was _ so close _, but he couldn’t save her in time before the flames scorched her and she burned alive. 

He can still smell the charred flesh. 

Suddenly overcome by nausea, his stomach twists and Peter throws up over the side of the bed, the acrid scent of vomit reaching his nose. His throat feels raw. He coughs out whatever is left and then dry heaves, gagging on his own saliva. 

He hears the door open. The hallway light comes on and spilling into the room and Peter squeezes his eyes shut. The mattress shifts and Peter sways, the nausea still present but subsiding. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” Tony asks. A hand falls on his shoulder and Peter flinches. “Tell me what’s happening, is everything okay?” 

Peter breathes, focusing on drawing air in and blowing it out, forcing his breaths to be even. His lips are cracked and dry. And he feels unsteady when he says the first words he’s ever said since May died. 

“I threw up,” he murmurs, voice rusted. 

Tony hears him. “Okay, I’ll clean it up, no big deal. Why don’t you put on some fresh clothes while I get you some water and clean up this mess, okay?” 

Peter doesn’t know if he nods or if he’s uncontrollably swaying in agreement with Tony’s suggestion. Either way, he slowly climbs off the bed and around the puddle of vomit on the floor. He grabs the clothes Pepper left on the end of the bed and crosses the hall into a bathroom. 

He dresses in the dark, not wanting to flick on the lights because they could threaten him into becoming nauseous again. His movements are slow and uncoordinated, drenched in exhaustion. But the clothes are more uncomfortable than his jeans and jacket, even if they sage off his young, short frame. 

Peter rolls the sleeves of the sweatshirt up past his elbow and turns on the faucet, cupping his hands underneath the cool, running water. He drinks from his palms and then splashes water on his face, residual clamminess and warmth clinging to him. He takes loud but even breaths. He doesn’t dare look in the mirror. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom but when he returns to the bedroom, Tony is there sitting in a chair and the mess on the floor is cleaned and replaced with a towel, just in case. There’s a tall glass of water on the nightstand. 

Tony stands. “You feel better? You were in there for a while.” 

Peter nods and climbs back onto the bed. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.” 

He sips the water and appreciates how refreshing it is against his raw through. Then he peels the blankets back and slips in underneath them, curling an arm underneath the pillow and burying his face into it. He stares out the window at the night sky, trees scraping against the stars. Tony moves slowly over the creaking floorboards and lays a hand on Peter’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Tony asks, sincerely. “Cause I will if you want me to.” 

Peter shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. 

Tony presses his lips together, looking torn. He doesn’t move. Even through the darkness, Peter can see how Tony’s eyes shine with sadness. Guilt. He gives Peter shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then walks away. 

It’s when the hinges on the door creak does something burst inside Peter. Gravity catches him and yanks him down hard into reality. He finally realizes it with a startling clarity he hadn’t before: May is dead. 

He cries into his pillow, tears dampening the fabric. He gasps between sobs because it feels like there’s a knife between his ribs and then someone is moving him, turning him over in the blankets. Then it’s Tony side that he’s crying into, Peter’s chest heaving, body wracked and shaking with sobs. 

Tony holds him close and doesn’t say anything. He just lets Peter cry it all out. It feels worse than being stabbed in the stomach. It feels like being stabbed a thousand times all at once. He writhes in agony, grief washing over him like a tidal wave, everything flooding in at once. 

May is gone. He’ll never see her smile or hear her laugh or eat pizza with her and watch Friends. Never share anymore inside jokes or mourn Ben at Christmas time or drape a blanket over her shoulders after she falls asleep waiting for him to come home safe. 

She’s dead. She’s dead and the worst part is, he never even said he was sorry. The last memory he’ll ever have of May is him slamming a door in her face. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobs into Tony’s shirt, which is wet with tears falling fast and hot. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t save her.” 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tony replies but it’s not, it’s really not. “It wasn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could’ve done alright?” 

Except there was. If he hadn’t stormed out, then maybe he could’ve gotten her out. He could’ve protected her and made sure she escaped the burning building unscathed. 

It’s with this realization that he stops crying. For a second. Just long enough for him to whisper: “I killed her.” 

“No,” Tony says, gentle. “You didn’t kill her. None of this was your fault.” 

“I could’ve saved her,” Peter offers breathily, voice shaking. “I could’ve-I could’ve saved her, I could’ve got-gotten her out in time, Mr. Stark.” 

“No, you couldn’t have. You weren’t even there. There’s no way you would’ve gotten to her in time.” 

Tony says it like it’s supposed to make things better. 

It only makes things worse. 

-

There’s a funeral. 

Peter doesn’t know the details. Just that Tony planned it and it’s on Friday. 

Selfishly, he doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay under the covers as long as he can so the outside world seems less real and scary. He wants to hide and pretend it’s all a dream. 

Pepper and Tony tiptoe around him, talking in hushed whispers, like he’s a fragile object even the slightest breeze could shatter. They offer him food and water and set it on the nightstand. Tony tries to prompt him to eat and he refuses. Maybe it’s because he’s secretly a masochist. Maybe it’s because May died and his fault and he doesn’t deserve to eat, let alone live. 

He shouldn’t think like that. But he can’t help it. 

Friday inevitably comes around and a pressed, dry cleaned suit is laid at the foot of the bed. Peter lowers the covers to see Pepper smile and then whirl out of the room, strawberry blonde hair flouncing over her shoulder. 

He supposes that means he should get ready to go. He supposes he should go since Ned and MJ will be there and he hasn’t seen them or talked to them since the apartment burnt down. 

But he’s already been to too many funerals. His parents’, he doesn’t remember. But he remembers Ben’s. He remembers seeing those same sad eyes in each and every person who offered their condolences and pity. They were being nice but it hurt like hell. And if he goes today, then it’ll be even worse because now they’ll be pitying an orphan, not just someone who lost his uncle. 

He tugs the covers back over his head, breath trapped and warming the air. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears footsteps. He’s learned to differentiate between Tony’s and Pepper’s. These ones are slow and heavy: Tony’s. 

The mattress gives beneath him and through the covers, he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“You want to come out from under there?” Tony asks. 

Slowly, Peter draws the blankets away. Tony isn’t looking at him anyway other than normally. There’s no pity, no sadness. Peter is grateful. 

“We gotta leave in the next twenty minutes if we want to get there on time,” Tony says. 

He doesn’t reply. He hasn’t talked much since that night when Tony laid with him until Peter cried himself to sleep. He just rolls over, burrows himself into the pillows and blankets. He doesn’t want to look at Tony. He just wants to be alone. 

“I’m not gonna make you go if you don’t want to,” Tony says. “But if you don’t go, then I at least want you to take a shower and eat, okay?” 

Peter doesn’t reply to that either. He doesn’t know if anything he says or does even matters anymore. May is gone. The world has been shrouded in grey and hopelessness ever since. 

“It’s your choice,” Tony adds and then he’s standing, walking around the edge of the bed. 

It’s there. It’s right on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t know if he even wants to know the answer. But it comes out anyways and Tony has his hand on the door handle when Peter quietly says, “Tony?” 

Tony stops, looking back at him. “Yeah, kid?” 

His heart feels like it’s beating too quick with an adrenaline rush just from talking. Peter raises his head to see Tony better when he croaks, “Does it...does it get better?” 

Tony’s eyes seem to go cold and distant. 

“I hope so,” is all he says and then he’s gone. 

-

Peter doesn’t go to the funeral. 

He showers and then goes downstairs to eat dinner. As much as he feels guilty about not going, he secretly grateful he didn’t. It took everything in him to even stand, much less shower and change into fresh clothes. He’s trying not to fall asleep as he takes the steps one by one to where Pepper is serving dinner at a table set for three. 

“Hi, Peter,” Pepper greets as she moves from the table to the counters. “How was your shower?” 

“Fine,” Peter replies and sits down because he’s weary from walking and standing. He doesn’t understand why all his limbs are so heavy, why he’s so weak and tired. He glances around the room. “Where’s Tony?” 

“He’s taking a call in the other room. He’ll be with us in a second.” 

Pepper sits down and Peter surveys the dinner. Chicken, salad, pasta and garlic bread. Peter tries hard not to think about May’s affinity for Italian food. 

It’s a few seconds later when Tony joins them, sliding his phone into his back pocket before sitting. “Sorry, work call. Couldn’t be helped.” 

“It’s okay,” Pepper replies with a smile. 

They all say grace and then they begin to eat. Pepper and Tony serve themselves, passing bowls and baskets around the table. Peter forces himself to plate food to eat. It was part of the deal Tony gave him after all. 

He takes several small bites while Tony and Pepper talk. Peter doesn’t say anything but he notices that Tony keeps glancing at him throughout dinner and then shoots different glances at Pepper, who replies with her own muted expressions, like they’re speaking in a language all their own.

In the end, Peter eats one serving of pasta, one slice of garlic bread and one chicken breast before quietly asking if he can be dismissed. 

Tony looks at Pepper and then nods. “Yeah, go ahead,” Tony says. “I’ll take your plate.” 

Peter leaves the table and returns upstairs to lay down in bed. Even though it’s only six in the evening, he’s tired and he wants to sleep. 

Tony, however, seems to have other ideas. 

It’s only a couple minutes before Tony enters the room, carrying something underneath his arm: a laptop. 

Tony lays down on the other side of the bed and opens the laptop. Peter shifts underneath the covers, curiosity drawing his brows together. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

Tony looks at him like it’s the first time he’s noticed him. “Oh, I’m just gonna watch a movie, if that’s alright.” 

Tony clicks on a video file and the title screen for the _ Emperor Strikes Back _ comes up. 

It’s Peters favorite. 

Peter doesn’t say anything further. He just nestles underneath the covers as the movie starts. They watch together. At some point, the ghost of a smile flickers across Peter’s lips. At another point, he laughs. It’s more breath then laughter but hey, something is better than nothing. 

Peter gradually moves closer to Tony throughout the movie. Tony doesn’t mind the closeness and even wraps an arm around Peter to draw him closer. Through the fabric of his shirt, Tony’s heart beats against his ribcage. Calm and rhythmic. It’s soothing. Peter feels calm. Not depressed. Calm and at peace. 

As the credits begin to roll, Peter feels like he should say something. Maybe something like “thank you”. 

But Tony talks first, saying, “It does get better, Pete. Tonight was proof of that. You just have to remember the things that make life worth living.” 

It doesn’t make it better. 

But it’s a start. 

-

Peter stays with Tony and Pepper. 

After a few months have gone by, after Peter has healed a little bit more everyday, Tony and Pepper file for legal guardianship. It’s a lengthy process with lots of paperwork but since Peter doesn’t have any other living relatives, Tony and Pepper are the next best choice. 

It’s technically adoption, but Tony has made it clear he won’t force Peter to give up his last name. 

“When the time is right, if you want to, you can,” Tony said. “But that’s something Pepper and I won’t force upon you ever.” 

Happy takes him to and from school. The first day back is hard. But Ned and MJ stick by him the entire time and even Flash is sympathetic, telling Peter that he’s sorry about May. The teasing eases since then. 

It’s easy to stay busy. Peter goes to school, comes home and does homework. Household chores are slowly being given to him but Pepper doesn’t want to be burdensome. She doesn’t want to give him more than he can handle. And he’d never thought he’d admit it but doing dishes or switching out laundry helps. It feels like a new normal; something he’s been itching to find. 

He hangs out in the garage with Tony, who is more than happy to have an extra set of hands. They plan new upgrades for Peter’s suits, including making it heat resistant. The old suit was in the apartment when it burned down. Thankfully, Tony had the foresight to have someone remove it before police or firemen could find it. His secret is safe. 

Peter hasn’t gone back out as Spider-Man since the apartment burned down. It’s easier to say that: “since the apartment burned down.” Somehow, it tastes better on his tongue than the words “since May died.” 

He tries not to feel guilty about it because the grief is still fresh and raw and he’s still learning how to live again. He doesn’t want to take on too many things at once. 

But when he doesn’t have any homework, or chores, or any upgrades to brainstorm, everything seems to come creeping in. What happened to May becomes more real. What happened to the apartment too. It all sinks in, heavy and unbearable on his chest. It feels like he’s being crushed beneath the weight of it all. 

It often happens at night, when he has too much time to think. He thinks and thinks and runs everything through his head, trying to think his way around the problem. He wonders if he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to think hard enough about how he could’ve saved May. 

Eventually, he always rounds to the inevitable conclusion that he couldn’t have saved her. And realizing that, over and over again, springs tears to his eyes. He tries to cry silently into his pillow but Tony seems to have a radar about these things. Peter can’t cry longer than five minutes before Tony comes in the room, and tugs him close, and lays down with Peter until he falls asleep. 

It’s the same with nightmares. May burns, or Ben burns, or sometimes, it’s both. The wall of flames are large and roaring, bearing down on him, the heat nauseating. Tony is always there when Peter wakes, with water and fresh clothes and a towel. 

It doesn’t matter when or where. Tony is always there, no matter what. 

-

It’s all okay until it isn’t. 

One night, Pepper is out working late at the office and Peter asks Tony over leftovers if he can start going out on patrols again. 

“Mm,” Tony says, stirring leftover pasta. “And might I ask what brought this on?” 

Honestly, Peter spent last night scrolling through recent news reports and crime statistics. Petty crime has increased thirty percent since “Spider-Man” vanished under mysterious circumstances. He’s not sure what brought it on but he found himself stuck in an echo chamber of report after report, scrolling through hundreds of Twitter threads on conspiracy theories around Spider-Man, ranging from death to alien abduction. Some tweets were pretty nasty, thinking Spider-Man selfish for disappearing and not sticking around to help the everyday citizens who need him. 

They forgot that Spider-Man is only human. 

Peter shrugs. “I miss it,” he replies. “I want to do it again.” 

Tony blows out a breath. “Well, I have a penthouse in Manhattan. We could stay there temporarily if you want.” 

Peter’s brow creases together. “What do you mean ‘temporarily?’”

Tony sets his bowl down and folds his hands in his lap. “Well, we can’t stay there forever. The house is here and so’s Pepper.” 

“Why can’t we just move?” 

“Because our life is here. With the house, with Pepper.” 

Peter feels defensiveness rise in his chest. “_ Your _ life is here, not mine. I didn’t ask to be here.” 

“Okay,” Tony says, placatingly. He raises his hands in surrender. “Why don’t we just slow down a little bit?” 

“No,” Peter spits, “I didn’t ask to move from Queens all the way out here to be with you and Ms. Potts and you didn’t even ask me if I wanted to.” 

“Peter-” Tony tries but Peter has moved past defensiveness into smoldering anger as he stands to his feet, voice rising. 

“No!” he shouts. “You just expected me to move my entire life all the way out here because that’s what you wanted, you didn’t even ask me what I wanted! All my friends are in Queens and Spider-Man is in Queens. And I am stuck here with this stupid cabin because you didn’t just once consider what I wanted to do.” 

“Peter,” Tony tries but Peter is rushing away, grabbing his coat and running out the front door as Tony calls after him. 

Peter slams the door and runs. 

The night air is cold as it rushes past him, tears streaming down his face, his leg muscles burning with exertion as he tramples over damp, fallen foliage and branches. He runs deeper and deeper into the woods, heart pumping as he pants for more air. He runs and runs until he can’t run any further and then he collapses onto the forest floor, wet dirt soiling his jeans. 

He feels the warmth slowly being leached from him as he rocks back and forth, mouth quivering as he murmurs May’s name over and over again. He just wants her back. He wants his old life back and his old apartment back. He didn’t want this. He never asked to be uprooted and moved to this cabin with Tony and Pepper, his whole world turned upside down. 

It occurs to him then that he’s not mad at Tony. After all, it’s not his fault. More than likely, he’s mad at the universe or maybe even himself. 

As his breaths even out, his mind begins to clear. He remembers the last time he ran away, the last time he slammed a door in someone’s face. He remembers May’s last words. 

“Don’t let the sun go down on your anger,” he whispers to himself, words evaporating into the chill air. 

He needs to apologize. 

He stands to his feet, legs shaky beneath him. How far did he run? 

He backtracks through the forest, thinking over his words, how best to formulate an apology. He tries out different versions of “I’m sorry” in his head, none of them sounding quite right. 

As he nears the edge of the forest, he begins to feel warmer. He’s not quite sure why but the air is giving way from coldness to warmth. 

Then he sees it, in the distance. 

He pauses only a second, disbelief freezing him into place, a chill running down his spine. He shakes his head in denial. _ This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. Not again, oh God, not again. _

The cabin has been set ablaze. 

He takes off around the edge of the pond, screaming Tony’s name at the top of his lungs. He He rushes to the house and stares at it wide eyed, flames dancing in his glassy vision. There’s no one in the windows. 

“Tony?!” he yells and circles around the house with a wide berth between him and it. Tony isn’t here, which means-which means…

He’s inside. 

Peter stops in front of the house. He feels like he’s David staring down Goliath, this flaming house taunting him, daring him to try and save Tony. 

Peter hardens his gaze and stares it down as he shrugs his coat off, letting it drop into the grass. He’s not scared of this. 

And he’s not going to let another loved one burn to death. 

He charges up the front steps, which creak threateningly. He bounds across the porch and through the doorway, into the living room. He coughs on the smoke as he scans the living room. The sofa is engulfed in flames. 

Tony is nowhere to be seen. 

“Tony?!” he calls and then coughs into his elbow as he moves through the house. Already, he feels lightheaded. “Tony!” 

No reply. He moves through the living room towards the back of the house, where it’s partially collapsed. He squints, unable to see past the thick smoke filling the air. His eyes water. 

He passes through the kitchen as he enters the formal dining room. The dining room table is caved in, a fallen beam of wood splitting it in half. He looks down at the end of the room to see three things: the holotable, a wood beam, and Tony pinned underneath it. 

“Tony!” Peter yells and rushes forward, careful not to upset the fire around him. 

He falls to his knees beside Tony. The beam is on his abdomen. Tony is unconscious. There’s a pool of blood forming a halo beneath his head. Peter presses two shaky, ash covered fingers to Tony’s jugular. He feels a faint, steady beat. 

He would be relieved if instinct wasn’t telling him to move quickly before the house collapses on both of them. 

“Okay,” he pants, “okay.” 

He stands to his feet and coughs violently into his elbow, side aching like it’s bruised. Nausea swells. It’ll have to wait. 

He wraps his arms around the wood beam, bends his legs and then lifts. God, it’s heavy. He edges along the floor longways and waits until the end of the beam passes over Tony’s middle. He’s clear. 

When Peter lets go, he drops with the beam. His skin shines with sweat. His chest heaves as he breathes hungrily, desperate for clean air he won’t find here. 

He casts his eyes back to Tony and forces himself to stand, swaying on his feet. The world is tilting at the edges. His fingers fumble around for purchase and he places an arm beneath Tony’s legs and one underneath his neck. Peter groans as he lifts Tony and then shouts as he comes to a stand. 

With slow, agonizing steps he walks through a side hallway. Behind him, he hears creaking and watches the ceiling begin to give. He has to move fast if he doesn’t want this burning house to be his coffin. 

He forces himself to stagger as fast as he can through the living room and then the front door. He hears a crashing behind him as he stumbles down the steps. Gravity shifts. Heat flares behind him as he summons his energy and runs a couple feet before his legs give out and he falls on the grass just as the house is reduced to ashes, a mushroom cloud kicking up into the sky. 

The last thing he sees are little flakes of flickering ashes floating into the sky, where the stars glitter down on him and then the darkness swallows both the ashes and the stars whole. 

-

Peter looks around the apartment. 

It’s the old apartment, white light shining in through the windows, giving the whole room a hazy, bright glow. The living room is together again, framed photos of Ben, May and him on the wall. There’s no sound here, not even as he slowly ventures inward. 

“May?” he asks to empty air. “Are you in here?” 

He rounds into the kitchen, only to find that May isn’t there either. But when he returns into the living room, she seems to have materialized out of nowhere. She’s wearing the same clothes she was when he left her that night. A yellow sweater, jeans. Her hair is loose. She smiles. 

“Hi, Peter,” she says and her voice hasn’t changed. Not one single bit. 

Peter’s shoulders sag as his heart tugs him forward. “May,” he murmurs, voice wet as tears begin to spill and he closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Oh, May,” he gasps, “I missed you so much.” 

“I know,” she replies, her arms tight around him. May always gave the best hugs. “I missed you too.” 

He tightens his grip, but not enough to hurt her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. For everything that happened, it was my fault, I could’ve-I could’ve saved you.” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” she assures, stroking his hair. “I’m here, it’s okay.” 

Peter nuzzles his nose into the crook of her shoulder. She smells like gardenias, like that perfume Ben gifted her for their anniversary. 

She gently pulls away from him, hands holding his elbows. “I don’t have much time. And there’s something I need to tell you.” 

Peter nods, sniffles. “What is it?” he croaks. 

May smiles kindly and cradles his cheek in her hand. Peter leans into her touch. Her hands were always so cold but right here, they’re warm. 

“I wanted to tell you that I forgive you, Peter,” she says. “What happened to me, it wasn’t your fault. And while we shouldn’t let the sun go down on our anger when we’re mad at other people, we can’t stay mad at ourselves either. We have to have the strength to forgive ourselves and the power to move on.” 

A tear trails down his cheek and May tenderly wipes it away with the pad of her thumb. Her brown eyes are wide, pleading. 

“Can you forgive yourself, Peter? For me?” 

And if this is the last time he will see her, if this is the last thing she’ll ever ask him to do, then he’ll do it. For her. For himself. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s nodding until he is. Doesn’t even realize he’s being pulled into her embrace until he can feel her heart beating against his. He wraps his arms around her and whispers, “I don’t want you to go.” 

She breathes in and out deeply. “I know. But I’ll see you soon. I promise.” 

May lets him go and then raises herself on her tiptoes and presses a kiss on his forehead. 

“I love you so much,” she says when she lowers herself back down. 

“I love you too,” Peter replies, voice wet and broken. 

May smiles. “I think it’s time for you to go. They’re waiting for you. And they love you a lot too.” 

Peter looks back at the door. When he returns his gaze May is still standing there, waiting expectantly for him to leave. 

Hesitantly, he walks across the living room back towards the door and opens it. The hallway is dark. 

He spares one last glance at May and then he disappears, into the darkness. 

-

When he wakes, the world is swathed in white. 

He blinks against the brightness and slowly, his surroundings begin to clear. Edges take shape. There are perfectly rectangular ceiling panels above him. 

His gaze slides down to a window where golden beams of morning light fall in shafts through the blinds. In the far corner of the room, there’s a cabinet and a sink in a countertop. There’s an empty chair beside him. Behind him, a heart monitor beats evenly. 

The door swings open and in comes Pepper, styrofoam cup cradled in one hand. Her eyes blow wide when she sees him. 

“Peter,” she cries, “oh, my God, you’re okay.” 

Her shoes click across the linoleum. She sets a cup down in the chair and then hugs him. He returns her hug and distantly, he tries to remember if they’ve ever hugged before now. 

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Ms. Potts, I’m-I’m alright.” 

She releases him and takes his hands in hers. Her eyes are red rimmed and teary. She laughs. “The doctors said you would be fine but I just got so worried.” 

Peter’s brow creases together. “How long have I been out?” 

“Only a couple hours,” Pepper replies. “It was night when emergency services got to the house and it’s morning now. You’ve just slept through the night is all.” 

It hits him like a tidal wave: “Tony,” he says, breath hitching with panic. “Where is he, is he okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Pepper replies. “He’s in the other room. He has a concussion, some bruising and a few burns but otherwise he’s gonna be fine.” She smiles gratefully. “You saved him.” 

Peter remembers. The burning house, the walls of flames bearing down on him, the determination not to let Tony be stolen away by fire. 

“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, distant, eyes in his lap. “Can I, um, can I go see him?” 

Pepper squeezes his hand. “Of course. I’ll call a doctor in and we can move you into a wheelchair.” 

Five minutes later, Peter is being eased into a wheelchair and wheeled out of his room, heart monitor and pole with a saline drip in tow. It’s quite the traveling circus. A nurse, Pepper and him. He’s wheeled one room over and through the door to see Tony lying in a hospital bed. He has the same set up as Peter just with bandages around his head. 

The nurse pushes him right to Tony’s bedside and then leaves, telling Pepper to let her know if anyone needs anything. 

Peter runs his eyes over Tony. He’s okay. No worse for wear. He’s sure underneath the hospital gown the burns and ugly motley of bruises are there. But otherwise, he’s going to be okay. They both are. 

With a shaky, taped hand, Peter reaches for Tony’s hand and takes it in his own. He leans over and rests his head on the bed, blinking up at Tony. Gradually, his blinks grow slower, eyelids more heavy, and then he falls asleep. 

When he wakes, Tony is awake too, talking in low, hushed tones. Peter blearily opens his eyes, lashes fluttering as he rises from sleep. Tony and Pepper both look at him as he sits back up in his wheelchair. 

“Ah,” Tony says, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did you enjoy your slumber?” 

Part of Peter wants to be mad but he’s a little disoriented right now. 

“What time ‘s it?” he slurs, tongue thick and heavy with remnants of sleep. 

“It is lunchtime,” Tony replies. “Pepper was just about to head down to the cafeteria and get us each something, just so long as it isn’t that god awful green hospital Jell-O.” 

Pepper laughs, eyes crinkling, and then pecks Tony on the lips before she stands to leave, fingers trailing lightly over Tony’s forearm before she’s gone, door swinging gently closed behind her. 

“Gross,” Peter comments belatedly. 

Tony chuckles and it’s then that Peter remembers. He needs to tell him something. Something important. Something he was going to say before he saw the house ablaze. 

Tony seems to notice somberness has dawned over Peter’s expression. He shifts in his hospital bed and asks, “What is it? Is everything okay?” 

Peter tears his gaze away from Tony and stares down at the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. With a free hand, he absentmindedly scratches at the material. 

“I need to, um,” he stammers, low and nervous, “I need to tell you something.” 

“Ok-ay,” Tony slowly draws out. “I’m listening.” 

Peter breathes in deeply. In, out. In, out. _ Just say it _, he tells himself because he couldn’t fix what happened with May but he can fix this. He can fix this with Tony. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter admits, swallowing thickly. His throat is wet. He looks at Tony through tear filled eyes. “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Tony’s lips slant into a smile that isn’t really happy. “It’s okay,” Tony says softly. “I forgive you.” 

Peter feels like he can breathe easy again. But he feels immediately disarmed when Tony tacks on, “And I’m sorry too.” 

Peter frowns in confusion as Tony continues. “You were right. I shouldn’t have just expected you to move upstate with me, I should’ve communicated better. Asked if...if you even wanted to come or stay in Queens. If you wanted to I could’ve made it happen. You forgive me?” 

Peter nods. He’s not about to let the sun go down on his anger. “I forgive you, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony smiles. And then Pepper comes back in with food. 

And Peter doesn’t even realize that he’s been holding Tony’s hand the entire time.

**Author's Note:**

> anyways i hope you guys enjoyed. the ending is a little...loose and not up to my normal standards of writing imo??? but i've been working on this all day and inevitably, i get to a certain point where i just want it to be done and idc as much about quality i just want it all to be o v e r. 
> 
> be sure to leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed and i'll talk to you guys next update. bye guys!
> 
> wattpad: ironarana


End file.
